The Hippopotamus Defense
by alynwa
Summary: Originally written for the Picfic challenge on LJ, the picture at left was the prompt for this story.


Illya and Napoleon were strolling on Ocean Avenue in the Brighton Beach section of Brooklyn one Tuesday afternoon. It was a hot early September day, but the strong breeze off the nearby ocean with its hint of salt in the air made the heat quite bearable, in fact, Napoleon noted that the group of old men gathered around the stone chess tables to watch even older men play were mostly wearing suit jackets. _It seems like teenagers and twenty – somethings only wear blue jeans nowadays._ As they got closer, snatches of conversations in English and Russian drifted towards them. "Illya, how are we supposed to know which one of the chess players is our contact?"

Illya was wearing his blue tinted sunglasses against the bright sun and looked only slightly rumpled in his off the rack suit. "Those games are near completion, if these men know what they are doing," he announced after reviewing both boards. Our contact should be playing next. We will know it is he because he will use the Hippopotamus Defense as an opening."

"Isn't that what Tigran Vartonovich Petrosian used against Boris Spassky in 1966?" The Russian suddenly grabbed Napoleon's arm and swayed slightly, alarming the CEA. "Are you all right?"

"Do not do that, Napoleon! Do not reveal that you have a working knowledge of the chess championships in Moscow! It is too shocking."

Napoleon shook his hand off his arm and growled, "Remind me to kick your ass in the gym when we get back to the office. Look; that game's just ended."

They watched as the winner shook hands with the loser and then shook hands with his new competitor. The newcomer had white and moved his pawn. Everyone in the gathering watched as the two men moved their pieces.

Napoleon whispered to his partner, "That's our guy. He hasn't swayed from the Hippopotamus Defense in eight moves. I'm sure of it."

"As am I," Illya said before moving into the man's line of sight. He winked when the man looked up and got a small, quick smile in return.

Satisfied that they had made contact, the UNCLE agents blended into the crowd and watched both games unfold. Their man was quite talented. He put up quite a fight, but was ultimately defeated after almost three hours of intense play. Graciously, he shook the winner's hand, placed his fedora on his head and began to walk in the direction of the boardwalk.

The two agents caught up with him and Illya said loudly in Russian, "You are an excellent player! I was certain you would win. You will do so next time."

When they had moved a good distance from the chess games, the man replied, "I _am_ an excellent player. It was very difficult for me to throw that game. I wanted to win, but it would have gone on for at least another hour and none of us has that kind of time." He reached into his inner jacket pocket and handed Illya a small beige envelope. "Those are the names of the THRUSH operatives currently sitting in various city, state and federal positions within twenty – seven states in the US. I trust UNCLE will find it useful."

Illya passed the envelope to Napoleon. "Are you sure you do not want UNCLE to relocate you? The Central Committee is not going to be happy when they find out that not only have you resigned, but you have assisted UNCLE with its cause."

"I am an old man. I have lived a good life. Where would I go? We all must die one day. I prefer to die in familiar surroundings. I am going to sit on my favorite bench on the boardwalk and watch the sea. If assassins find me there today or tomorrow or next week, I do not care. I have no wife, no children; no one to mourn me. Giving you that information is my legacy. Leave me now so I can go into my destiny."

Illya and Napoleon broke off walking with the contact and headed to their car which was parked across the street. The Russian slid behind the wheel, started the car and smoothly merged into traffic while his partner reported their success to the Old Man and gave their ETA to Headquarters.

Napoleon disassembled his device and replaced it in his inner jacket pocket. "You've been a little quiet since we left Brighton Beach. What's going on?"

"Maybe I was being quiet because you were talking to our superior and I did not wish to interrupt."

"It's more than that and we both know it. Talk to me."

Illya quickly glanced to his right to see that he had Napoleon's complete attention and decided that he better come clean. "It was what he said about having no one to mourn him."

"I knew it! You're not him, Illya, I'll mourn you when you die."

The blond snorted, "Who said I am going before you?"

His partner shrugged. "I like to think of it that way. However, if we go at the same time, April and Mark will mourn us. My point is: We have made our marks. Our cause matters and thus, we matter. If we die in the field, we will be on the Wall of Remembrance and if we die of old age, people will know and acknowledge that we were here."

"Are you always so disgustingly upbeat?"

"Yes."


End file.
